Exaltation
by Blatantly Jennifer
Summary: It is too much and not enough; inexplicable and overwhelming in its intensity. It is fire in your veins and scorching breath on your skin. Nick/Greg.


Soft, scorching breath ghosts out across skin already aflame with desire. Veins pound beneath flesh, blood boils throughout his body, pulse rapidly beats underneath a creamy, pale neck. Heartbeat so loud he thinks it would be heard, but he isn't sure because the roaring in his ears is too loud to understand anything other than _Oh my God_. Can't get enough breath through his lungs, his diaphragm contracting too quickly for the rest of him to catch up; his brain feels melted, dripping through his ears; nerves restless and twitchy, muscles fluttering helplessly against the onslaught of gentle, silky lips brushing over needy skin.

The razor-slick-sweet feel of pearly teeth dragging across the tender skin of his abdomen; rough, coarse fingertips spread against bony hips to hold them in place; warm breath surrounding his cock—so _close_ but not close enough, not nearly close enough—and dark, molten eyes peering up at him. His own fingers, clenched tight in snow-white bed sheets, pulling desperately for what reason he wasn't sure, but God, anything—_anything_—to get those lips, that mouth around his throbbing cock; to feel that sinful tongue that he used to dream about for nights upon end until finally, _finally_ he has that tongue all to himself, and that's what adds to this delicious torture. Because that mouth, that tongue, those teeth, those lips and those eyes are all his—_his_—and no one else's, and he feels his heart thump proudly for a moment before he isn't able to think much anymore besides _Fuck_.

Keening, whimpering noises spilling shamelessly from parted, slightly chapped lips and he knows he should be embarrassed but he can't bring himself to care, not when that gorgeous mouth is wrapped round his cock, and nothing should ever feel as good as those fingertips running delicately up and down, side to side across his abdomen, shaky breath exhaled through a nose over curly hair around the base of his cock and _God_ whatever the hell was just done to his cock with that tongue. Heat rushing to his face, pooling in his stomach, his own teeth sneaking out to sink into his bottom lip and pull it into his mouth in a vain attempt to stop the humiliating sounds pouring from his mouth; but it is a lost cause, because the mouth is gone—and he is _such _an ass—and now puffy, satin lips are skimming across quivering abs and he is so going to fucking pay for this.

But then a pair of large hands is bracketing around his stiff wrists, unclenching his fingers from the bed sheets and lifting them up, pinning his hands near his face. Said hands are closing around his, squeezing, a thumb caressing the inside of his palm as dark eyes stare into his. He twists, stretches up and captures full lips in his own, a sudden flickering feeling of contentment, happiness, excitement, _that _swirling around in his chest, and he doesn't know what it is or what's causing it but he goes along with it anyway.

Nick nudges at his knees, and he spreads his legs, allowing Nick to slide in-between, allowing skin to glide over each other and there, _right there, God yes_. Engorged cocks bump together, electricity sparkling, crackling and shooting up both spines, moans tangling in a sensuous twirl in each other's mouths and he'll never get enough of this, never.

And there's that feeling again, that one he can't explain, can't define, can't name and can't grasp: it's flooding his body, wrapping around his heart and making it skip a couple of beats; mixing with his blood in his veins and causing his everything it ignite with a passion so strong his lungs heave with strain; it flows up his cock and drips out of it onto his own abdomen, floating in a pool on his skin; and it's _there_, in that place he never knew existed, taking hold of his thoughts, his heart, his brain and his soul. Nick shifts, fingers pulled out of his body and then they're being replaced by something much more desirable. Nick slides inside and it's one long, slow thrust but it's full of everything he feels, everything he can't say, or describe, or explain.

He tips his head back, arches his neck and gasps for breath, for air, for oxygen and lets that feeling wash over him because it comes with everything Nick does, and he never wants to let that feeling go.


End file.
